Operation: Treehouse
by rednoseredhair
Summary: In which Castiel is good at some things, Dean is good at other things, and they are both impossibly bad at building treehouses. *AU- High School


AN:

Welcome to this terribly weird take on the High School AU. I don't even know where this came from, I am so sorry. But here it is, I hope you at least find it enjoyable. Of course, the regular disclaimers, and all...that...jazz *throws glitter.*

Castiel Agnusdei was imponderably good at three things:

1. Sandwich-making. Though few had been graced with the gifts of his prowess, those who had rarely forgot about it. Castiel was just exceptional at equally balancing flavors. A bit of tomato, a splash of chile powder, some hummus and suddenly God himself is throwing a Quinceanera on your tongue. Castiel's specially was, embarrassingly, peanut butter and jellies. You might ask yourself, how can one be bad at PB&J? The answer to that is: you don't know that someone could be good at PB&J until you've had a signature Castiel PB&J.

2. Disappearing. So, you've suddenly found yourself in an awkward situation. Who knows the specifics, maybe someone's brought up your ex or that they enjoy illegal camel fighting after a long day's work. Doesn't matter, because suddenly you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Castiel and that horrific vase your aunt gave you from her trip to Morocco. He's just gone. No one knows whether Castiel just knew the hidden ins and outs of every room he's ever been in or if he's part chameleon. Point is: do not count on Castiel to have your back one someone brings up their fascination of toe hair, because he won't be there.

3. Making promises he doesn't know how to keep. This, out of all the things Castiel considers himself champ at, is probably the worst for his general well-being. It just tumbled out of him sometimes: yes, sure, I can french braid your hair. Two hours, a knotted head, and a friend in tears might be enough of a lesson for some. But on the list of things Castiel Novak is bad at, saying no would probably be at the top.

This is how 17 year old Castiel finds himself in Home Depot with a book in one hand and a notepad in the other, staring down the lumber aisle. He squinted inquisitively at stacks and stacks of wood, towering much taller than he was. This, of course, is all explained by a convenient flashback session:

"Castiel?" Anna, a feisty 9 year old with a bit of a diva complex, called, turning hesitantly to look into the living room.

"Anne," He replied, calling from his stool in the kitchen "I'm in here." She ran in, giggly and joyous, and hoisted herself up on to the counter top where Castiel had placed his book.

"And what can I do for you, Sweet Pea?" He asked, turning a page idly.

"I have a question." Anna articulated, kicking her feet to hit Castiel in the thigh. He paused in his reading, turning to slowly raise an eyebrow to the spot she was kicking. Anna she drew her feet in a way that made you think she was apologetic, but her smile gave away her devilish streak.

"And what is that?" Castiel asked, closing his book to give her his full attention.

"Dad wouldn't tell me the answer." She told him, hushing her voice down. Castiel raised his eyebrows.

"So you've come to your brother? A little duplicitous, don't you think, Anna?" He reprimanded gently, flicking her knee.

"I think he's just bitter." Anna told him truthfully, drawing her knees to sit crosslegged on the counter.

"About?" Castiel questioned, setting his chin into his hand to stare up at his younger sister.

"Michael."

"Oh," he said calmly, licking his lips and straightening up in his seat. "I see."

"Do you," Anna swallowed, "know when he's gonna come back.

Cas frowned at his lap, wrinkling his forehead. He squinted at Anna, "No, Sweet Pea." He told her. "I think it will be a very long time."

"Oh." Anna replied, picking her fingernails sadly. "Okay."

"Why?" Castiel asked her.

"He promised me something." Anna replied, digging the crook of her finger into her tearduct, undoubtedly digging for some crust that lie in there.

Castiel gently brought his hand to Anna's face, using his thumb to coerce the crust out of her eye "What was that?"

"He told me that, by summer, he would help me build a treehouse. Like a place of my very own to be in."

"Oh," Castiel answered, rubbing the crust off his thumb unto his jeans. "Well I could do that,"

Anna's eyes jumped up excitedly. "You could?" She exclaimed.

"Yeah, probably." He grinned at his little sister "I'm a man, you know. We men know how to do these things." He huffed his chest up broadly, winning smile plastered on his face.

Anna rolled her eyes "Girls can do anything boys can do." She told him frankly, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

"Can they, now?" He laughed, "We'll get started next weekend, alright? Now get your feet off the counter, you cretin, we eat on this thing."

Castiel, as it was, knew absolutely nothing of treehouses. And, apparently, one couldn't just google "How to build a treehouse" and retrieve effective instructions. And wood was also not just two by fours. It came in many lengths, and thicknesses, and what on earth is the difference between cedar and pine? Castiel had no clue. He was running his fingers into the notches of the patterns of wood, frowning heavily at it, when a voice spoke behind him.

"Uh, hey," it said, "can I help you find anything?" Castiel had a distinct feeling that the keeper of this voice probably thought he was clinically insane. He turned around with a grimace, ready to be tossed out of this godforsaken forest of lumber.

"Uh- yes." He told the person behind him. "I need...wood...things. And nails." He was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a person his own age, with the voice of a trucker. The boy was taller than him, which instantly irked Castiel, seeing as he was the tallest in the family, save for Dad. He had eyes the color of Anna's puke that one time they ate at Long John Silver's. That was not the most attractive description for the most beautiful pair of eyes Castiel had ever seen, but likely the most accurate. He also had this atrocious orange vest on with a Home Depot decal.

"Wood...things?" The boy choked back a laugh. "And nails. Right." The boy looked like he was swallowing a smile. "Can I ask what your project is, maybe?"

"A house in the trees." Castiel replied plainly. The boy furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his head. "I mean like, a Tree house. Like a little house. Strong enough to hold a 9 year old girl, or so. I do not want a full house in my trees. I don't think I have trees strong enough for that..." Castiel trailed off. "Is cedar wood stronger than pine?" He asked.

"Oh!" The boy frowned, but this time in consideration "Do you know, you know, what kind of tree you're working with? Or, like, where'd you want to put it?" The boy scratched at his ear.

"No, not yet." Castiel shook his head. "I have purchased this book." He held up the book, his hands shaking a bit. Castiel couldn't fathom why he was babbling like someone who was clinically insane, or why his words weren't functioning the articulate way they normally manage. His people skills were probably just rusty, outside of his family. He supposed mainly conversing with a 9 year old about the moral values of Teen Beach Movie wasn't really tip-top conversation training. He had probably been thinking too long, the air was suddenly silent. When he looked back to the boy, he was blinking at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry, what?" Castiel asked.

"I suggested maybe you want to give that," the boy tapped the book, "a read first. Maybe have a look at your yard. Then come back and look in to buying some lumber." He reached behind Castiel to knock his hand on the wood, as if Castiel had forgotten what lumber was.

"Righ, yes. Makes a lot of sense, I guess." Castiel nodded. "I will do that, thanks."

"Yeah, uh, no problem." The boy replied "We'll be happy to set you up when you're ready." He nodded. "Ask for Dean," He told him, sticking his hand out for a handshake.

"Okay, yeah." Castiel shook his hand. "Who is Dean?"

The boy cracked a disbelieving smile. "Uh, it's um, me." He pointed to his name tag.

"Oh! Oh." Castiel exclaimed, mentally smacking his face into the nearest wood fixture. "Right, okay, Dean, I can do that. I will ask for you, yes." Castiel told him.

They waited for the other to move, staring at each other as silence marred the light atmosphere.

"Right, well then." Castiel resolved "I will be using your exit now, thanks." He nodded grandly, turning to shuffle his way to the nearest door.

"That will lead you into Christmas tre-" Dean began to call as Castiel showed himself out through the Christmas department. He stopped, and shook his head, hoping the man would eventually figure it out for himself.

AN:

I'm so sorry I just needed some fluff in this world of despair for no apparent reason.


End file.
